Chapter 47: Cicada Chirps, Bird Calls, and Thunder
A Haidai Gate that once oversaw the tax revenues of nine cities, a Changpu River that wafted the scent of fine wine every night—these had witnessed the rise and strength of the Great Li Dynasty, from a vassal state transformed into a suzerain, then from one nation to an entire continent. Generation after generation of Great Li saw literary offices produce renowned ministers, and border armies produce great generals, all crafted from a blend of elegance and magnanimous passion. Scholars took pride in rising from humble morning fields to the emperor's hall by evening, while ordinary families felt honor when their clan sons enlisted in the military. It was as if for a hundred years, everyone in the Great Li, from court to countryside, was striving for a single breath of pride.
Pei Mao walked along the blossoming banks of the Changpu River with his son. Differences in age, experience, identity, and perspective meant that father and son would consider different issues. Even for the same matter, good or bad, right or wrong, their views might be as far apart as clouds and mud.
Pei Jing finally voiced a heartfelt question, "Father, this time His Majesty has gone to North Jambudvipa to discuss an alliance. Yet precisely at this moment, the State Preceptor summons you to a capital that kills without shedding blood. Is the State Preceptor planning to deal with you?"
Pei Mao nodded. His still-young son was finally no longer so cautious. He smiled and said, "Why use a butcher's knife to kill a chicken? If the State Preceptor's residence were targeting Pei Mao alone, that would be overestimating my own prestige and achievements, and underestimating Chen State Preceptor's cunning and methods."
Upon hearing this, Pei Jing felt a chill of desolation in his heart. This young civil official was even more afraid that if he pressed further, his father would reveal even bloodier truths, so he shifted to a tricky question: "Father, why do you like to say 'Pei Mao' such-and-such when you speak?"
Pei Mao was taken aback. It was indeed a good question.
When had this habit formed? Pei Mao thought carefully. It probably started after the young Pei Mao had chatted with Cui Chan, the Embroidery Tiger, a few times?
Indeed, Cui Chan tended to refer to himself as "Cui Chan" rather than "I."
Pei Mao said slowly, "Probably because we all feel that the 'who' in your eyes is still quite distant from the 'who' in our own hearts."
He paused for a moment, then continued to himself, "Because we are both very confident, confident to the point of near arrogance."
Pei Jing's expression dimmed. "I can't do that."
Pei Mao patted his son's shoulder and laughed. "Because you are still young. A man's pride is always directly linked to his official hat, the money in his pocket, the knowledge in his belly, and the power of his family's elders."
Back in his younger days in the capital's officialdom, Pei Mao had enjoyed deep imperial favor and attracted much attention. Now figures like Hong Ji had become commanders of the Northern Office, serving as the emperor's right hand—but how many years had that taken? How old was Hong Ji now?
Now young men like Yang Shuang had entered the ranks of the capital's pure faction, but before Pei Mao served as supervisor of the Haidai Gate, he had already been an undisputed leader of the pure faction. On the surface, he had criticized court policies, constantly opposing State Preceptor Cui Chan and clashing with him at every turn, which had incurred the former emperor's dragon wrath. Pei Mao had nearly been dismissed and expelled from the capital. That was simply because Pei Mao had grown tired of being a civil official and had long harbored a desire to face death on the battlefield.
State Preceptor Cui had once said that Chenzhou was like in the heavens.
So Pei Mao went to be an official in Chenzhou, and he climbed the highest mountain there, deliberately leaving behind the largest cliff inscription.
"Other than leading troops, my only hobby is reading history. I've already read nearly ten thousand volumes of historical texts. Moreover, in the Great Li dynasty, a civil official who became a pure faction leader and then turned military officer to become a Patrol Envoy—Pei Mao himself is part of history. Therefore, I deeply understand that great changes in the world come in only two forms: either internal and external hardship, the great hall about to collapse; or the desire to build a tall tower on flat ground. The changes of heaven's time and earth's advantage are unpredictable, and cannot be sustained or created by the strength of a single hand or foot."
"Now the Great Li is magnificent and thriving. Even that dynasty far in the Central Plains has become a vassal of the Great Li. But! However optimistic you all are now, that is exactly how fearful I, Pei Mao, am."
"For this entry into the capital to discuss matters, no matter what his intentions are, I will pour a bucket of cold water on him face-to-face. I will speak some alarming words to his face. In the past, Cui Chan's governance had its strengths and weaknesses. Now it's exactly the opposite. One wrong move, too many accumulated defects, and the dynasty's life hangs by a thread. You, Chen Ping'an, are a cultivator. At worst, you can just pat your butt and leave, explaining the failure as the result of heaven's general trend, or after ten or decades, step down as State Preceptor and hand it to someone else, calling it 'achieving success and retiring in accordance with heaven's way.' But in that 'future year,' where will the people of the Great Li's hundred prefectures go to air their grievances? Will they kneel at Luopo Mountain, kowtow and beg bitterly, pleading for you to come out and save the world, save people's hearts, and single-handedly prop up the sky to rebuild the Great Li?!"
Pei Jing's mind was a mess.
"Pei Jing, remember this! Being able to say what others cannot say or dare not say—don't even think about learning from those so-called smart people who speak weird or boastful words to fish for fame. From beginning to end, Pei Mao disdains to do that."
Pei Jing finally spoke in a low voice, "Father, if Chen State Preceptor has the capacity to tolerate, or if he already knows in his heart, why bother saying more? If Chen State Preceptor won't listen to advice, why bother saying more..."
Moreover, soon a large group of people would go to the State Preceptor's residence to cause trouble. At this critical moment, a newly arrived Patrol Envoy, a military governor with troop authority, chooses to pour cold water and speak alarming words, saying that the fate of the flourishing Great Li dynasty might be hanging by a thread in the hands of you, Chen Ping'an... Father, how will the State Preceptor's residence see this? How will the court guess? How will His Majesty handle it? How will Chen State Preceptor think?
Pei Mao looked at the Changpu River and murmured, "Whenever the path grows desolate, a grand heart for the rivers and lakes arises."
In those clanking armored years of glory, what he remembered most was the mountain scenery at his horse's head—lush and green, mountain flowers like fire.
---
In that place commonly called the Golden Throne Hall by the common folk, the uninvited guest now stood beside that chair.
Chen Ping'an smiled. "Go ahead, what message did the Pure Yang elder ask you to bring me?"
The man curled his lips. "When the Taoist arrived at our place, he said one must follow local customs. It was no longer suitable to use his old Taoist title 'Pure Yang' or his old name 'Lü Yan' in the world. Probably because when he first set foot in a local Taoist temple and flipped through his first Taoist scripture, it was the Lingbao Sutra, so he gave himself a new name—Lü Dongxuan."
Chen Ping'an nodded. "Interesting. A good name."
The man looked at the State Preceptor, who had his hands tucked in his sleeves, and said, "He did ask me to bring you a message. It's not complicated. He said you don't need to rush off to protect the Dao. Wait until he goes to the Demon-Slaying Platform at Dragon-Tiger Mountain in the future, after Lü Dongxuan becomes Qi Xuanzhen. Then you can go. He also said he hopes this 'protection of the Dao,' which is best viewed from a distance, turns into a 'observation of the Dao' for Mountain Lord Chen."
He had thought that by "ascending" here, he would see jade towers rising above the clouds, golden and resplendent palaces, ranks of immortals... but it wasn't much different from home. The marketplace was still the marketplace, the court was still the court. However, those so-called registered cultivators did indeed know some divine arts of summoning wind and rain.
Chen Ping'an asked a key question, "What is the flow rate of the River of Time in your homeland?"
The man remained silent.
Chen Ping'an asked, "Heavenly secrets must not be revealed?"
The man asked sullenly, "First, explain to me—what is the River of Time?"
Chen Ping'an was momentarily at a loss for words.
The man laughed. "Since you cultivators in your books all like to use pseudonyms when traveling the world, I'll follow local customs too. My pseudonym is Huang Longshi. I won't change it in the future. Of course, nicknames are separate."
Chen Ping'an squinted and shook his head. "You, sir, are not honest."
The man who had named himself Huang Longshi let out an "eh" and smiled. "So you saw through me."
His gaze was playful, staring directly at Chen Ping'an. A "foreign" man who claimed not to understand the River of Time first sincerely praised an ingenious idea. The Taoist Lü Yan had spoken truly—you are indeed very formidable. Then he asked Chen Ping'an a very insider cultivation question, "Are you really using others' hearts to testify the Heavenly Dao?"
Seeing Chen Ping'an silent, he pressed aggressively, asking again, "Then where is your own heart?"
---
For a powerful minister like Hong Ji of the Great Li, whenever he went out, he had retinue secretly following to guard against assassination.
Although the State Preceptor's celebration had already rooted out enemy spies and death warriors planted in the capital, it was hard to guarantee there weren't a few fish that slipped through the net. Besides, one shouldn't imagine the Great Li court and high-ranking families to be too clean. Given the recent actions of Hong Ji and the Northern Office, it wouldn't be an exaggeration to say they had earned the resentment of both heaven and man in officialdom.
For instance, his in-law had just sent a letter to the Northern Office. The letter didn't mention any precautions to Hong Ji—it was just an ordinary family letter, reporting safety. However, this local academy headmaster, who according to Chen State Preceptor's way of speaking, was a scholar in the wilderness, had included two recent calligraphy works with the letter. One was a regular-script piece titled "The Bamboo Shoots the Banana," and the other was a wild-cursive rendering of Han Old Master's poem "Staying at Dragon Palace Rapids."
Hong Ji was both grateful and helpless. Grateful that his in-law compared him to a bamboo in the courtyard; helpless that the other was probably advising him, as someone who had incurred public wrath, that the winds and waves of officialdom in the Great Li capital were now like Han Old Master's poem—a great surge stirring, with both dragons emerging in stormy waves and mournful howls of apes and rats, the ghostly darkness of treacherous human hearts.
But these family matters he wouldn't bother Chen State Preceptor with, lest it seem like complaining or trying to curry favor.
Besides, Chen State Preceptor had clearly anticipated things and had been very supportive of the Northern Office. For instance, back at Old Oriole Lake, he had recruited for the Northern Office that martial artist named Gao Shi, who was at the summit of the mountain peak realm.
However, although Gao Shi was registered in the Northern Office and held an official post, he was currently not in the capital. He had gone south with Liu Chang, the "Channel Commander" of the Fish-Dragon Gang, to establish two branch halls. Liu Chang was also impressive, bringing along several "Fish-Dragon Gang attendants"—besides Sixth Master Huang Lian, there were two Crown Princes whose travel documents read Cao Lüe and Lu Jun, namely Cao Xi of Great Duan and Lu Jun of Great Yuan.
To mountain cultivators, the rivers and lakes might not be deep, but the waters were certainly murky.
Indeed, Gao Shi needed to be there. It was said that this martial arts grandmaster's heirloom treasured blade "Green Waist" could slice through earthly immortals like cutting tofu.
The two Northern Office captains who had blocked the road back then—Qin Biao had been promoted to deputy general of Li Prefecture, and Situ Dianwu would have his own opportunities later. Then came today's meal. Hong Ji had already learned his future peak position upon leaving the Great Li officialdom: the first Governor of Huainan Circuit, a governor among governors.
Perhaps this was a legacy of State Preceptor Cui's pragmatism? With merit comes immediate reward, no waiting.
Hong Ji's two retinues, one overt and one covert.
He nodded to the Northern Office personal guard who had approached.
Hong Ji vigorously rubbed his cheeks.
Apart from the secret letter from his in-law, which was elegant and sincere, his son Hong Lin had also sent a family letter, simply worded.
The gist was for him, as a father, to be a good high official. Hong Lin would also do his best as a minor official. As long as they were both good officials, they could have clear consciences. Hong Lin also wrote that even if he died as an old man at Dragon Head Plateau, he wouldn't have wasted his time as an official. He told his father to take care of himself in the capital, drink less. At the end of the letter, he said that when he had free time, he would have his father come to Dragon Head Plateau to see—he definitely wouldn't bring shame to his father. The last sentence, his son, the young Great Li civil official, county magistrate of Dragon Head Plateau, Hong Lin, seemed to have the word "ambition" sweeping like a strong wind into the face.
"I want the people of Dragon Head Plateau to remember Hong Lin for fifty, a hundred years. Regardless of age or gender, whenever they mention the name Hong Lin, they'll give a thumbs up and say, 'He was a good official!'"
Hong Ji felt both gratified and heartbroken, always feeling he had let his son down. If it weren't for the burden of "Northern Office Hong Ji" and "Emperor's Confidant," Hong Lin might not have wasted years in the magistrate's position. Those who survived the battlefield and became Great Li officials were not allowed to engage in cronyism or trade benefits with the powerful behind the scenes. But as a father, how could he not think about his son's future?
In the distance, a young man looking around marveled to himself—this was the Changpu River. Too bad his wife hadn't come to the capital with him.
Beside him walked a woman with a wooden expression, not young but very beautiful.
A mountain cultivator who had come here to drink, skilled in observing qi, happened to pass by on the roadside. He noticed the young man and was quite surprised. The young man bore heavy golden qi, clearly related to warfare and weapons. But why was his official qi so shallow? Clearly a minor official!
The young man asked softly, "Miss Jiang, is my father really drinking here?"
The woman replied telepathically, "I checked with the Ministry of Justice. Commander Hong is indeed entertaining guests here."
They came from a military ferryboat docked at Whistling Arrow Ferry. The woman surnamed Jiang held a Peace and No Trouble medallion and was a second-rank retainer registered with the Ministry of Justice.
She lifted her chin. "He's coming."
Hong Lin raised his head and looked into the distance. After a moment, he saw his father's figure.
On Hong Ji's side, he had also been alerted by his retinue. He strode quickly toward his son, puzzled. "Why are you here?"
Hong Lin was even more confused. "Didn't Father summon me to the capital?"
Hong Ji didn't press the matter. He just glanced at the woman beside his son.
She was only responsible for bringing Hong Lin, the magistrate of Dragon Head Plateau, to the capital. As for why, she said not a word.
Hong Lin knew the rules of Great Li officialdom. Even if he asked, he wouldn't get an answer. But he vaguely sensed this was no small matter.
Hong Ji's expression remained normal. He asked tentatively, "Hong Lin, and this young lady is?"
Hong Lin explained, "She is a retainer of the Ministry of Justice, named Jiang Ya. She was responsible for escorting me to the capital."
Hong Ji breathed a sigh of relief. At least his son hadn't gotten into trouble and found some other woman outside.
Hong Lin said, "Didn't I tell you to drink less?"
Hong Ji laughed. "We'll talk when we get home."
Jiang Ya cupped her hands. "I'll take my leave here."
Hong Ji returned the gesture. "Thank you."
After Jiang Ya left, Hong Ji grabbed his son's shoulder. "Tsk, you're something. Even better than your old man."
Hong Lin was completely baffled. What did his father mean by that?
Hong Ji repeated, "We'll talk at home."
Jiang Ya walked alone along the Changpu River. She was the former martial woman "Ya'er" from the Lotus Flower Blessed Land, who had once appeared in the capital of Nanyuan Kingdom, staying by the side of Ding Ying of the Demon Sect, and finally "ascended" with "Zhou Fei" to the Haoran World.
After years as a maidservant, it had truly been a life of drifting clouds and water—from Tongye Continent to Bottle Gourd Continent, from Jade Gui Sect to the True Realm Sect at Letter Writing Lake, naturally passing through the Jiang Clan Cloud Cavern Blessed Land along the way. In her homeland, she had been like a deity from books of strange tales, but here, that didn't seem worth much.
For so many years, her life had been erratic, like stepping on a watermelon rind. In short, Jiang Shangzhen told her to go where, and she did what he said. As for her martial arts, she had long become ordinary. It was because Jiang Shangzhen, that muddle-headed fellow, had "smashed" a half-immortal artifact into her brow, and somehow she became a half-baked cultivator.
The last time she appeared publicly was with Liu Xunmei and the sword cultivator Cao Jun, escorting refugees stranded for years in their homeland blessed land back to their homes on Tongye Continent. After that, she became a retainer of the Great Li Ministry of Justice. That was fine—being able to carry an official identity that feared nothing and go do some martial arts business in the rivers and lakes was like returning to her old trade. But her name was now "Jiang Ya," homophonous with "salted duck," which always sounded rather unpleasant.
Ding Ying, who had once killed Zhu Lian, became the number one under heaven. Later, the young man surnamed Chen who killed Ding Ying became the Great Li's State Preceptor Chen. Both were unimaginable things. But strangely, what interested Jiang Ya most was how that little dark-skinned girl who used to sit on a small stool against the wall could become one of the "Four Grandmasters" of the Bottle Gourd Continent martial arts ranking, "Zheng Qian."
Come to think of it, Hong Lin was indeed a very good official. Earlier, when she was ordered to fetch him to the capital, she had observed him secretly. As a top-tier general's son, he loved reading—matters like flood control, disaster relief, and famine management, he would always note down separately. She had gone to Dragon Head Plateau once before, recalling passing by Yellow Flower Waterfall, atop which was a small temple. Entering the temple, the once-dismal blackened shrine and moldy curtains were now completely renewed. The new painted statue of the Mountain Goddess was full of spirit and dynamism, quite charming. Now, for several miles out of the city, willows lined the road with thick shade, the road as smooth as a palm, shallow streams meandering alongside, beyond the streams crops in yellow and green stretching endlessly—a delightful landscape.
All say life is like a white colt passing a crack, and worldly affairs like puppets on a stage. Who knows who holds the reins, or who pulls the strings?
Everywhere on the road, there are only traces—is that not true?
Jiang Ya sighed quietly, found a random tavern, ordered a jug of wine and some dishes, and drank alone, quite contentedly.
---
The group returned to the State Preceptor's residence. Yu Shiwu went back to handle official business. The cook Yu Qing, learning on the job, started making iced plum soup.
Guo Zhujiu followed Rong Yu to her room. Xie Gou had come to the capital on official business that was really personal—she wanted to go to the capital's Flower God Temple to find Wu Cai. But from Sister Rong Yu, she learned that Wu Cai had just gone with several Flower Goddesses from the blessed land to board a military ferry at Whistling Arrow Ferry bound for Oxhorn Mountain. Their destination was the Kiln Affairs Supervisory Office of their own Locust Grove County in Dragon Spring Prefecture. It seemed they were going to personally oversee the firing of a batch of official kiln Flower God cups, specially presented as gifts to that friend of Liu Qi, nicknamed "Cao Huajian." Fair enough—that was reciprocity. Cao Zu had made a special trip to Bottle Gourd Continent to explain "Retaining the Human Realm" for Mountain Lord on behalf of Liu Qi. Xie Gou, as Chief Retainer, would still acknowledge the favor. Using the earth-shrinking technique, but before returning to Luopo Mountain, Xie Gou specially went to find that "diligence compensating for insufficient talent" Sword Immortal Yuan Jucai—after all, he had obtained the skin of the Three Courtyards Dharma Lord, and she needed to keep an eye on him lest he fall into a trap. Yuan Huajing saw Xie Gou without her sable hat and also had a strange expression. Xie Gou didn't bother with him; since she was here, she casually gave a few pointers, and Yuan Huajing again wore that expression of understanding.
At the State Preceptor's residence, Rong Yu was sorting a stack of important archives and documents, writing sticky notes or excerpting passages.
Due to the vast territory of Great Li, the Vice Ministers of the Six Ministries had too much authority and too heavy a workload. Moreover, the Minister held rank 2A, the Vice Minister rank 3A, with a gap of rank 2B in between. So some suggested raising the current Left and Right Vice Ministers to rank 2B, and adding another two or three Vice Ministers to each ministry. This would create "senior" and "junior" Vice Ministers. Taking the Ministry of Revenue as an example, they would add Vice Ministers for Granaries and Fields, Canal Transport, etc. Additionally, someone petitioned to re-establish the position of Capital Intendant for the two capitals, with authority over minor matters and reporting on major ones, with a rank equal to Hong Ji of the Northern Office...
Guo Zhujiu sat quietly watching, thinking Sister Rong Yu was a genius.
The last time she had this feeling was when her master went into the Summer Palace to take charge of everything.
Guo Zhujiu looked out at the courtyard. In daylight, there would be chirping birds flowing out from the dense shade.
Rong Yu occasionally flipped open a small notebook that recorded different names and official positions.
For example, Han Yi, the magistrate of Changning County, still had the word "acting" attached. And several names like Pei Jing within the State Preceptor's residence.
Rong Yu added new entries with her brush: Song Wenxiu, the county vice-magistrate of Jiayu County, and Lu Hui, the county commandant. This came after the three petty clerks of Yongtai County. Rong Yu thought for a moment, then added a place name—Guo Zhujiu had a good memory—it was Ganlu County, where the Eternal Spring Palace was located.
Guo Zhujiu pointed at the notebook and asked, "What relation is Pei Jing to Patrol Envoy Pei?"
Rong Yu smiled. "He is Patrol Envoy Pei's only son."
Guo Zhujiu nodded. "No wonder."
Mountain dwellers and children of noble families, when seen in the marketplace, seemed to have an indescribable, inexplicable sense of ease.
For example, Cao Gengxin, who had served as the Kiln Affairs Supervisor of Dragon Spring, that drunkard who wandered through the streets and alleys of Locust Grove County—in Chen Lingjun's words, even the dogs on the road weren't afraid of him.
Guo Zhujiu asked curiously, "Sister Rong Yu, is there a story behind your name?"
Rong Yu nodded and smiled. "State Preceptor Cui once roughly explained the reason. He said the term 'redundancy' isn't necessarily entirely pejorative. According to State Preceptor Cui's understanding, a country or a cultivation site is just a framework. They must allow... certain errors to exist somewhere, as if alternates. Otherwise, government offices and officials would be interlocked too tightly, too precise, losing flexibility. The seemingly rapid operation comes at a cost—in unseen places, constantly and repeatedly grinding away at human nature. People's hearts are like a chair or stool with interlocking mortise and tenon joints; eventually, they won't hold, and it will collapse. This is because 'human harmony' has become less than, weaker than 'heavenly timing.' But if it's too loose, it becomes too lenient. The cost is that everyone slacks off, everything wastes geographical advantage. After all, human nature is pleasure-seeking; people always have a mindset of getting lucky. So certain annoying official formalities—from large-scale national audits, to medium-level ministry record cancellations, to small-scale local government file keeping and verification—become necessary redundancies. The purpose is... to have a safety net."
Guo Zhujiu understood at once and nodded. "Using small mistakes to correct big mistakes, setting up checkpoints in advance at diverging paths—that's a very sound idea. Pragmatic, practical, and down-to-earth."
Rong Yu's eyes lit up. She had pondered for a long time to figure this out, but Guo Zhujiu effortlessly grasped the essence.
---
Exiting the tavern, Vice Minister Zhao, as if selecting troops, called Cao Qinglang, Xun Qu, Zhang Ding, and Yan Yi to take a walk together.
The other examination peers' expressions shifted slightly. It was human nature to feel discontent over inequality rather than scarcity. Some were envious, while others had active minds, looking for opportunities to curry favor with the "cold stove" in the near future.
Yan Yi, nearly fifty, was only a low-ranking official of rank 7C in the Ministry of Justice. If he were twenty years younger, he might have felt secretly pleased. But at his age, he could only feel that some of the pent-up frustration in his heart had been slightly released.
Yang Shuang, Wang Qinruo, and others only envied Yan Yi for a brief moment.
Little did they know that Yan Yi had been envious of them for many years, with a heavy heart for nearly twenty years.
Zhao Yao turned to look at Cao Qinglang, with a hint of reproach and blame in his tone. "What was he thinking, allowing you to resign? The court is in need of talent right now. What's a few years or a decade delaying your return to the mountain for cultivation?"
Xun Qu's scalp tingled. He was worried about whether his friend Cao Qinglang's reply would pass muster.
Hong Ji of the Northern Office had gained a great reputation in the capital through a series of asset seizures, but he was only considered on par with Vice Minister Zhao of the Ministry of Justice.
They said commoners feared officials, and entering a government office meant losing a layer of skin. But officials also feared other officials. For example, those entering the Ministry of Justice to see Vice Minister Zhao as subordinates were lucky to escape with half a life.
The other two were baffled, wondering who this "he" Vice Minister Zhao referred to could be. Besides, they were curious—did Vice Minister Zhao mean that Cao Qinglang was also a hidden cultivator? They wondered what his mountain registry status was.
Cao Qinglang replied, "Don't blame my master. Blame me for lacking ambition. I couldn't achieve 'poor then good, rich then widespread,' so I had to retreat step by step, all the way back to the school."
Zhao Yao's brow had been furrowing deeper, but when he heard the word "school," his brow relaxed. Probably this man, already at the center of power, was reminded of his own youth, which was also tied to a small hometown school.
Zhao Yao suddenly asked, "Cao Qinglang, let me ask you a question. You must tell me the truth. In your heart, is being an official in the secular court far inferior to being the Mountain Lord of Luopo Mountain or the Sect Master of Qingping Sword Sect?"
Cao Qinglang didn't hesitate or think. Clearly, he had long had an answer. He said directly, "Any identity on the mountain, as my master's student, or as a registered cultivator of Luopo Mountain, comes with responsibilities and duties that must be fulfilled. But studying and teaching have always been my deep-seated interests. So when I learned I had to become the first Sect Master of Qingping Sword Sect, apart from truly worrying about whether I could handle it, I had no intention of shirking or avoiding. Later, when Senior Brother Cui took over as Sect Master, I didn't hide my relief from my master. Now that the Great River Project on Tongye Continent is complete, I plan to devote myself to scholarship in the mountain. Once I have insights, I will apply what I've learned. I will descend the mountain—whether as a busy local official handling mundane affairs or as a teacher in an academy—I cannot let all my learning go to waste without a place to land. My master understands this completely and is not disappointed at all."
Zhao Yao couldn't help but mutter inwardly. He, Chen Ping'an, disappointed? He would be delighted. Let him secretly enjoy it.
Scholars pursued three immortalities: establishing virtue came first, establishing merit second, and establishing teachings third.
Zhao Yao's face showed some amusement. "Our scholarly lineage has deep and solid foundations in virtue. As for merit—you, our uncles... and my junior uncle—are more than adequate. Only the matter of establishing teachings by writing books has indeed been our only weakness. Cao Qinglang, among the third-generation disciples, you have the greatest hope of accomplishing this. Indeed, one must write books and establish teachings early; once one enters officialdom, this matter is ruined."
Zhang Ding was dumbfounded. He exchanged glances with Yan Yi. Was Cao Qinglang also a direct disciple of the Wen Sheng lineage? Then wasn't Cao Qinglang a junior fellow apprentice of Lord Zhao? But the question was, who was Cao Qinglang's master?!
Cao Qinglang, who had already resigned, said with a smile, "Senior Brother Zhao, there are also great Confucians who say that one must absolutely not write books before the age of forty, otherwise what one writes is bound to end up on book stalls. Isn't that contradictory?"
Zhao Yao's smile grew richer. He asked back, "Think carefully. Are these two principles truly contradictory?"
Cao Qinglang smiled knowingly.
Zhao Yao said seriously, "Since you are no longer cultivating in public office, when you return to the mountain, be careful not to rely on your immortal identity, thinking you are different from commoners, with long life and no need to seize the day except for occasional opportunities. The establishment of teachings by disciples of the Wen Sheng lineage is ultimately different from ordinary scholars writing books. Only with single-minded dedication and consistent effort can you hope not to disappoint us."
Cao Qinglang stopped and bowed. "I earnestly request Senior Brother Zhao to supervise me. Please watch and wait."
Zhao Yao also stopped and smiled. "Agreed."
Yan Yi sighed softly. Even a fool would have realized by now that Cao Qinglang was Chen State Preceptor's private disciple.
But with this identity, Yan Yi felt no jealousy. Perhaps it was because Cao Qinglang had raised a toast to him at the banquet? Or... because he knew Cao Qinglang would never be in officialdom? Yan Yi's heart was complicated. This self-examination was more bitter than today's wine.
After rising, Cao Qinglang said, "Our Master Zhu on Luopo Mountain once used the military principle 'Concentrate all forces against the enemy, kill the general from a thousand miles away' to describe reading. A scholar with such ferocity and determination can then read, then study, and then establish teachings. My master also has his own scholarly insights: 'Reading a good book is like walking at night. A chance encounter in a narrow alley, like meeting bandits. One must cut at the throat. Killing must draw blood. Holding the knife, carry the head out of the alley.'"
Zhao Yao was silent upon hearing this.
Yan Yi was startled. The first half of that speech was excellent. But the latter half was dripping with murderous intent.
Zhang Ding's eyes suddenly lit up. Reading a book like being a thief? A good book like a powerful bandit or great robber? A narrow encounter, a close-quarters battle. A scholar discovering a book's true meaning like cutting at the throat? So it must draw blood. Or perhaps reading a book requires writing. Making annotations in the margins like "blood splattering on the spot"? The implication was that reading this way, lifting the brush like holding a knife, carrying the head out—a great victory and retreat, extracting the essence of the entire book? Reading a living book, reading it alive, thus walking out of the alley meant closing the book?
Nowadays, discussions about Chen Ping'an, due to his many identities—Mountain Lord, Hidden Official, Sword Immortal, Hero—everyone had their own say, with different focuses, each seemingly reasonable.
But almost no one praised the newly appointed Great Li State Preceptor's "scholarliness." Rarely did anyone comment on his cultivation of learning.
Zhang Ding now had a new interpretation: The people on and off the mountain were wrong. Chen State Preceptor was mostly heroic spirit, but in the end, he was entirely a scholar at heart.
Cao Qinglang and Xun Qu first returned to the State Preceptor's residence.
Now only Zhang Ding and Yan Yi accompanied Zhao Yao.
"Keep up. No need to deliberately fall a step behind," Zhao Yao said.
"Don't compare with Cao Qinglang in terms of scholarly lineage, nor with Xun Qu in terms of birth. If you can't compare, don't bother. It only adds trouble and does no good. Over time, it fills you with aggression that you can't hide no matter what."
Zhao Yao suddenly negated his own principle. "Not entirely. A seemingly gentle person can have no sharp edges or corners, but he must harbor a great... anger within."
"Of course, this unspeakable anger is not directed at a specific person or thing, but at many people and many things. These two mindsets distinguish who is weak and who is strong."
Zhang Ding said quietly, "Lord Zhao, your student is much obliged."
Yan Yi, however, was somewhat bewildered.
In officialdom, those smug young men could hardly understand the vicissitudes of the world. They seemed to have countless tomorrows to look forward to. It didn't matter what the day after tomorrow looked like; they firmly believed that fame, fortune, and high office were within easy reach.
For Yan Yi, who was nearly fifty, tomorrow was the most important thing. The monthly salary had to cover the family's daily necessities, rent, the extra expenses of entertaining guests, the condolence money for colleagues' children's weddings—whether to attend, how much to give. There were aged parents in the hometown to support. There were younger clan members with good academic aptitude who wanted to advance, always looking up to him as a model... one by one, item by item, these were urgent matters right before him. A few silver coins here, a few taels there. So Yan Yi had long since dared not think about the future. He could no longer settle his heart to read the sages' books.
Just for his son's studies, unable to withstand his wife's nagging, he had recently brazenly tried to invite Instructor Yu and Instructor Liu of Yongtai County for a meal, but both declined. He didn't even dare tell his wife that they had given him no face. He only lied that Instructor Liu had agreed and they would meet next month. He thought he could just drag it out vaguely. But unexpectedly, his wife borrowed money from everywhere and scraped together a sum, saying that since he was treating a county instructor to a meal, it had to be at the Changpu River. It goes without saying how suffocating Yan Yi felt drinking tonight. Damn it, if losing face could get things done, he would have called that Instructor Liu, rumored to be rolling in money, to the same table... Yan Yi had no spirit left to blame others or resent the world. He was just filled with guilt. It seemed he was destined to treat her poorly in this life. His wife now—she had once been a beauty like a flower! "Men fear entering the wrong trade, women fear marrying the wrong man"—that must be about them, right?
Zhao Yao said, "Li Xi wrote me a letter. Yan Yi, guess what he said in it?"
Yan Yi instinctively bent his waist and lowered his head. "Lord Zhao, I cannot guess."
Zhao Yao was Yan Yi and Li Xi's examination mentor. Li Xi had passed the imperial examination at fifteen, the youngest jinshi.
Although they both worked in the Ministry of Justice, Li Xi was in the subsidiary capital Luojing. Over the years, he had been thriving and had become a department director.
Being an official in the Ministry of Justice was the most awkward. The more skilled in criminal law an old clerk was, the harder it was to move. It was like a dead-end road in officialdom. Even if there were occasional exceptions, they were truly just exceptions.
Zhao Yao said, "Li Xi said there's a real vacancy in the Ministry of Justice of the subsidiary capital—a Vice Director of a prefecture's Justice Department. Since it's a substantive rank 6C position, it's harder to secure. He wanted me to help transfer you there. He said you came through the proper examination route, have sufficient qualifications, and are proficient in affairs, so it doesn't count as going through the back door. But he begged me, whether I do it or not, not to mention it to Yan Yi, afraid you'd be thin-skinned and feel burdened."
Yan Yi's face flushed red.
Zhao Yao said indifferently, "For a rank 6C autumn official vice director, your peer had to come begging me, a Vice Minister of Justice. Yan Yi, look at Zhang Ding. If I remember correctly, his starting point in officialdom was rank 6C, and even more prestigious—a Hanlin academician."
Zhang Ding looked embarrassed.
Because he was a top scholar graduate, his starting point was rank 6C. But after so many years of going around, he was now serving in the Ministry of Revenue's Coinage Bureau, still rank 5A.
Yan Yi knew very well his mentor's temper. He knew that Li Xi's good intention this time was meaningless. He just hoped Li Xi wouldn't leave a bad impression with Lord Zhao, which would be a huge loss. Yan Yi was like a mud wall that couldn't be propped up. If it can't be propped, then let it be. Li Xi, you still have a great future ahead. When you become a high official and happen to serve in the capital, by then my son should have passed the imperial examination and served in some office for a few years. Then I'll bring him to find you. Even if you won't help, just chatting with a fellow examination candidate in front of him would be a glory... Thinking of such a useless thought, Yan Yi wanted to slap himself hard.
Zhao Yao was silent for a moment, then said, "Zhang Ding, Yan Yi, you can keep your current positions and be transferred to the State Preceptor's residence as literary secretaries. As for the Ministry of Revenue and Ministry of Justice, I'll handle the documents and notifications for you. There's no problem with the State Preceptor's residence."
Zhang Ding was stunned. Yan Yi was dumbfounded.
Zhao Yao hesitated, then said, "You were both personally selected by the State Preceptor. I'm just going along with the flow."
Actually, even if Chen Ping'an hadn't done this, Zhao Yao would have had his own plans for promoting Yan Yi in the Ministry of Justice.
Yan Yi's blood surged, his heart pounding like a drum.
Zhao Yao said to Zhang Ding, "A scholar must be broad-minded and resolute, for the burden is heavy and the road is long."
Zhao Yao then gently patted Yan Yi on the back and smiled. "Keep your head down to work, stand straight to be a man."
Yan Yi straightened his back, face flushed, as if drunk.
Zhao Yao warned, "Chen State Preceptor wouldn't choose you two for no reason. The entire court will be watching your every move from now on. Weigh the pros and cons for yourselves. In short, don't get carried away. Continue to be careful in words and actions."
They clearly hadn't recovered yet. Even Zhang Ding, with his tough temperament, was like this, let alone Yan Yi, whose heart was now a mix of sorrow and joy.
Zhao Yao smiled faintly. "Both of you, go home now. Go report your good news. Skip sending letters to your hometowns—the Great Li is strict about that now. At least for now, don't cause extra trouble. You can do it later."
Zhao Yao was the first to leave.
Xun Qu from the Ministry of Rites, Zhang Ding from the Ministry of Revenue, Yan Yi from the Ministry of Justice.
These were the three new literary secretaries of the State Preceptor's residence after Chen Ping'an became Great Li's State Preceptor.
Three former examination peers of vastly different ages and fortunes—were they becoming the top three of another invisible imperial examination?
Only now it was Zhuangyuan Xun, Bangyan Zhang, and Tanhua Yan?
Thinking of his student Yan Yi, the "old Tanhua," Zhao Yao found it amusing. Behind him, he heard Yan Yi, already lowering his voice, tremblingly asking Zhang Ding, "Is it true? Am I not dreaming?" The experienced and steady Zhang Ding joked back for once, "I don't know if you're dreaming, but I'm not."
According to tradition, every Tanhua would ride through the capital on horseback. Yan Yi of course didn't dare to think of that. He just wanted to see her.
His heart surging, Yan Yi didn't care about the expense. He hired a carriage that plied the Changpu River trade. Once again, he felt the capital was too big, far too big. He finally reached an alley in Yongtai County, returned home, took out his key, opened the door, and saw the old woman leaning on the table in the main room. She looked up and said softly, "You're back." Yan Yi nodded vigorously, stared at her for a moment, then tremblingly raised his hand, pointed toward the State Preceptor's residence, and said, "I'm going to enter the State Preceptor's residence."
The woman paused, then smiled. She couldn't bear to say her husband was talking drunken nonsense. She just said, "Good, good."
In the next room, a young man reading by lamplight was carefully flipping through an old book full of annotations. A son carrying on his father's career—there was nothing better. He put down the book, pricked up his ears, and upon hearing his father say such things after drinking, the young man was suddenly filled with rage. He didn't blame his father for not being a high official or for his difficult career path. But he was furious that his father should deceive his mother, that he should say Instructor Liu had agreed to dinner. However, the young man understood his father's need to save face. He was also afraid that exposing the lie would hurt his mother even more. So he pretended not to know. But tonight, hearing his father utter such outrageous words—how could he be so concerned with saving face that he completely disregarded her feelings when she learned the truth tomorrow or the day after? The young man trembled with anger, suddenly stood up, and wanted to open the door to have a big fight with his father. But he quickly slumped back into the old, creaking chair. In the end, he himself hadn't studied well enough. If he had managed to pass the imperial examinations early, why would his father have to bow and beg? He had never been someone who bowed to anyone. The book spread open on the table, already poorly printed, became even more blurred.
Clenching his fists, head down, facing the table, the young man was heartbroken. Father, Mother, diligently studying the sages' books—it seems useless.
In the same capital city, it seemed the wealthy had a hundred ways to escape the summer heat, while ordinary households could only endure the long, bitter summer like a steamer, unbearably stuffy. Whether reading at home or earning money outside, they would soon be drenched in sweat. The young man always hid in his room, reading while fanning himself with a palm-leaf fan. Occasionally, he would lift his gaze from the book and look out the window. Only the incessant chirping of cicadas in the distant trees entered his ears.
Tonight, from the main room, after a moment, Yan Yi gently knocked on the door. The young man forced a smile and called out, "Father." He hastily picked up the palm-leaf fan and waved it vigorously to create a breeze, then moved his chair aside for his father to sit. Yan Yi stood at the door, shook his head, straightened his back, and said with a smile, "I know I lied before when I said Instructor Liu agreed to dinner. I couldn't fool you. But about going to work at the State Preceptor's residence—Mentor Zhao said it to me and Zhang Ding in person. He wouldn't deceive me. I'm not deceiving your mother or you. Not only that, Chen State Preceptor chose me to be a literary secretary. I'm even less deceiving you... But what I'm most proud of is having tricked your mother into marrying me back then, and then having you as my son. These two things are the least deceiving."
Yan Yi at the door was choking on his words. Behind him, the woman was red-eyed. Across from him, the young man's lips trembled, and he softly hummed in acknowledgment.
---
Late that night, Wei Zi carried a chair home.
Wheels rolled. Through the curtain, the fat man Wei saw the Yichi Alley, thick with locust and cedar trees, seemed somewhat desolate. It was because all the young people of his generation had been grounded at home by their family elders. Because he wasn't highly regarded by his clan and was in the tavern business, Wei Fatty often came home late. In the old days on the ground of Yichi Alley and Chi'er Street, in the moonlight, the ground seemed scattered with countless words about wealth and power. They were like a couplet of the Great Li court, but now they had all been replaced with one word: fear.
Getting out of the carriage, the driver helped the boss carry the chair out of the carriage. Wei Fatty, as was his habit when coming home very late, would give the driver one or two taels of silver as a tip. Not much, just a token of appreciation. It was troublesome for the man to still have to make a trip to Yichi Alley in the dead of night. Wei Zi was a particular person; he always had to show his gratitude. The driver was a man nearly fifty, surnamed Xu, honest and simple, a decent man who had worked at the tavern for nearly ten years. This time, the man didn't take the silver, politely declining, "Boss Wei, really no need. Business at the Changpu River isn't good now. You should also live more frugally. Many people say that saving money is earning money."
Wei Fatty forced the light, insubstantial silver coins into his hand and laughed. "It's not like I'm surviving on these few bits of silver. Just take it back and buy a few more books for Xinzheng. My father read those eight-legged essays he wrote and said he's truly a bookish seed. You know my father's temper—when it comes to scholarly articles, praising is harder than climbing to heaven. He wouldn't bother lying. I'm his own son. When he used to correct my essays, he always had that expression like he needed to go to the latrine. By the way, promise me this—when Xinzheng passes the imperial examination someday, don't pretend you don't know Brother Wei. Remember to bring your fellow graduates to the tavern. Consider it patronizing the business, giving me face."
The driver couldn't come up with any nice words. He just clutched the silver in his palm.
His son was named Xu Xu, courtesy name Xinzheng. This courtesy name—he had boldly asked the boss for help, and the boss went home and begged Lord Wei to choose it. It came from "A gentleman's words are trustworthy and verifiable." A few years ago, the boss returned to the driver a note with these eight characters written on it, along with several eight-legged essays.
The driver was moved. "Boss, it would be great if you became an official."
Wei Zi hoisted the chair onto his shoulder and laughed. "This world doesn't need a muddlehead like me to be an official. The Great Li is doing just fine."
Entering the house, he soon saw a rough maidservant carrying a tray in the corridor. She was of ordinary appearance—couldn't be helped. Although Old Master Wei had passed away many years ago, he had left behind many official maxims and family precepts that still lived on. For example, one must be wary of seductive women within the residence, of music and song, and must restrain younger generations from socializing too much, etc. Wei Fatty called out affectionately, "Sister Xiu," and asked an extra question, "Has my father not gone to sleep yet?" The maidservant saw Wei Shao'er panting as he carried the chair in a comical manner. After her surprise, she covered her mouth and smiled. What was going on with Master Wei? Coming home like a thief who had succeeded in stealing. She lifted the tray containing two bowls of iced plum soup and several plates of dried fruit and said that the first and second masters were discussing things in the study and had asked the kitchen for some refreshments. Wei Fatty saw she looked tired, obviously fatigued, so he put down the chair, reached out to take the tray, and said, "Sister Xiu, go rest early. I'll take it to the study."
His father and uncle had recently developed the habit of discussing matters in the study. After returning from the government office, they would chat for an hour or two, whether there was business or not.
In the past, Wei Hong and Wei Yi, each with their own official duties, would occasionally meet, mostly to privately curse someone's misconduct or mock someone—just complaining. Now it had changed. They still evaluated personalities and commented on events, but always with the principle of "If I were so-and-so, how would I solve this?"
Wei Fatty arrived at the study and handed the cooling plum soup to the two elders. He prepared to go to his own room to sleep. One was a Director of the Ministry of Rites' Catering Department, the other a Vice Director of the Ministry of Works. They had just been discussing the livelihood of Ju Prefecture, and Wei Fatty found it amusing. The newly appointed Prefect of Ju Prefecture, Guan Yiran, had been eating at his tavern just today.
Looking at his sweating nephew, Uncle Wei Hong asked in confusion, "What's wrong with you? Did you walk back from the Changpu River?"
Wei Zi blushed. "I carried a chair home."
But he really did plan to lose some of that fat. However, it was too embarrassing to talk about. He'd wait until he slimmed down.
Although both brothers knew well that Wei Zi was the family's greatest "merit contributor," Wei Hong couldn't help teasing, "Why not just move a bed home from the tavern?"
Wei Zi rubbed his hands and smiled, trying to take credit. "Uncle, Dad, guess who ate at my tavern today? Who was the host and who was the guest?"
Wei Yi frowned slightly. Whenever he saw his father's stern expression, Wei Fatty started to feel timid.
Wei Hong chuckled. "What, could it be Hong Ji of the Northern Office?"
He deliberately chose the most unlikely person, to see how his nephew would show off.
Wei Fatty's eyes widened. "Uncle, you're so well-informed!"
Wei Hong's eyes widened even more, and he immediately tensed up. "Hong Ji came to your tavern to eat?! What?"
Had the asset seizures gone to the wrong place?
Wei Yi's heart also tensed. He frowned slightly but maintained a calm exterior. He gestured for his son to close the door first. Seeing him close it and stand dumbly, Wei Yi gestured for him to sit down twice. "Sit down and talk. Tell me exactly what happened. Be as detailed as possible, and don't miss any detail."
Wei Fatty regretted bringing the chair back to Yichi Alley. If he had known he'd be interrogated as soon as he got home, he'd have left it at the tavern. He gave a rough account of Hong Ji's dinner that night, but didn't dare say more about what Chen State Preceptor had discussed in the kitchen and at the table, unless his father and uncle specifically asked. At least he was a Yichi Alley kid, having absorbed from childhood some rules beyond those on paper—that those unwritten rules were even more important.
As for that "Xie Gou" taking the initiative to ask if the Wei family wanted to accept a retainer, Wei Zi also didn't mention.
Some things were like the wine in his bowl—gone into his stomach, not to be belched for others to hear.
But about the agreement with Hong Ji of the Northern Office, which had no official taboo, Wei Hong found it interesting and even more nuanced.
Wei Yi finally relaxed. He said solemnly, "We won't ask. You act like you didn't hear it. You shouldn't even have said it in this room..."
Wei Zi immediately followed up, "Once I leave the study, I definitely won't say anything!"
Wei Hong nodded approvingly. The boy was getting more clever, beginning to understand. He teased, "You're not young anymore. Time to consider marriage."
Wei Zi's face flushed red. He mumbled in a voice as faint as a mosquito's, "Wait until I lose at least half this fat."
Wei Hong reminded, "Go bring that chair here to the study."
Wei Fatty obeyed. He had originally wanted to keep it as a family heirloom, but now it was intercepted.
Leaving the room, Wei Zi closed the door and glanced at the study's plaque, "Three-Provision Studio." It was his grandfather's calligraphy.
The young people of Yichi Alley and Chi'er Street liked to compete over "age." They compared how many years their respective families had lived on those two streets.
Compared to the several pillar-of-state surnames, the Wei family was clearly "young upstarts"—only four generations.
Wei Yi suddenly started cursing. It was about a young man from Yichi Alley, a shrewd businessman. In the past, when Wei Zi's grandfather, the pillar of the Yichi Alley Wei family, Old Master Wei who had once headed the Communication Office, was still alive, this family had visited them so eagerly. After Old Master Wei passed, their words and deeds became unpleasant and hard to bear. That young man, who had made no small amount of money over the years in the Ministry of Revenue's Granary and Fields Office, had once said something disgusting publicly at a Changpu River tavern. He mocked Wei Zi for being fat, saying that going home was like entering a pigsty.
This was tantamount to comparing the Wei family to a pigsty.
Wei Hong laughed heartily. So it wasn't just me, the uncle, who cared about this.
Wei Yi stood up, walked to the desk, and picked up a book-collecting seal.
Old Master Wei had once commissioned a private seal. The side inscription was sobering: "Passing down virtue lasts more than ten generations; passing down farming and reading comes second; passing down poetry and books comes third; passing down wealth and nobility lasts no more than three generations." But the bottom inscription was enough to make one shudder: "Today's scions of prestigious gates once resented the depth of those gates."
Wei Yi picked up this book-collecting seal, looking at the literary plaque. It was as if an old man was muttering to himself in the room, repeating old sayings, saying things that didn't care whether the world and young people believed them or not: "We scholars: in the eyes, opening a book is beneficial; in the hands, personally copying it down; in the mouth, reading aloud with clear sound; in the heart, compassion arises; internally, cultivate oneself, regulate the family, and examine oneself three times; externally, govern the country and benefit the people—who else but us?"
---
In the Great Li capital there was a small alley, inside which stood a "Echoing Others' Views Tower."
Night was deep. Zhao Duanming was alone, enjoying some leisure. Inside a barrier formation, he had laid out a bamboo mat, a jug filled with glutinous rice wine, and a plate of salted peanuts. He sat there, holding a scripture in one hand and a wine bowl in the other, occasionally plucking a peanut or two into his mouth, chewing. Sometimes he frowned, sometimes he had a realization, sometimes he smiled knowingly.
Chen Ping'an stood at the alley entrance and gave a soft cough. He asked knowingly, "Zhao Duanming, where is your master?"
Realizing it was the State Preceptor in person, Zhao Duanming immediately dispelled the concealment formation, hastily tidied up, stood up, and said in confusion, "Master said he had already notified my father and the Ministry of Justice, so he won't be guarding here anymore. Does... State Preceptor not know about this?"
Could it be that the old man had gone off on his own to travel?
Earlier, the youth had been comfortable calling him "Mr. Chen" or "Brother Chen," but now the words stuck at his throat like a horse pulling up at a cliff.
Actually, after Liu Jia left the capital, he traveled south, passing the mountain gate of Jiling Peak along the way. For some reason, the old man didn't climb the mountain, just glanced at it. Chen Ping'an had been in seclusion at his private cultivation site on Fuyang Slope at the time. Later, he learned that the old man had already gone to Oxhorn Ferry and taken a ferry to North Jambudvipa.
Chen Ping'an smiled. "If you feel bored, you can find another job."
Zhao Duanming shook his head. "It's not boring. As long as... Mr. Chen doesn't drive me away, I'll stay here and wait for Master to return."
Chen Ping'an nodded.
He walked alone through the dim alley.
Chen Ping'an extended both hands, as if measuring the width of the alley.
Actually, it was only a few steps to his destination.
Whether it was the formerly treasonous, master-betraying Embroidery Tiger, or later the senior brother who came to meet him on the wall of Sword Qi Great Wall and rarely had a heart-to-heart talk with anyone; the former Great Li State Preceptor, or Old Man Chang of that small Taoist temple—it was always Cui Chan.
Chen Ping'an walked to the courtyard gate and looked back. The path he had walked seemed to have an old man in blue robes with graying temples, holding some peanuts in his palm, a dao heart searching up and down, walking all the way.
He took out his key, opened the gate, and Chen Ping'an went straight to the second floor. From the dazzling array of bookshelves, he selected a book. He thought for a moment, then put it back and swapped for another.
Now, Chen Ping'an could finally get into those martial arts adventure novels. What he once couldn't relate to, he now found exciting and brilliant.
Twists and turns, life races like a thousand ancient steeds. After dark willows and bright flowers, a single sword's light chills mountains beyond mountains.
Unbeknownst to him, dawn broke. He closed the book, collected his thoughts, and went out to look. The red sun hung on the eaves. All sounds were silent, his heart cool and clear.